At the eastern point of the Crimea there uprises a double promontory. On that spot stood the temple whose priestess was Iphigenia. Between those two promontories lies the delightful valley where reigns eternal spring. The olive- and orange-trees grow wild. The Greeks, fitly to render homage to the beauty of the spot, called it Kaloslimen. It was there that Sophiopolis was to be erected. We got to the summit of Cape Laspi. The countess built a pavilion there whence she could inspect the works. It was on the same spot that Catherine II. was struck with admiration at the sight of the picture unfolded before her, regretting that the Euxine, which rose to the horizon, hid Constantinople from her. Wishing to perpetuate the memory of the woman whom he had so deeply loved, Comte Potocki decided that the gardens should bear the name of Sophie, and should surpass in magnificence, as well as in taste, all that antiquity and modern times had that was most remarkable. To realise this project he chose a vast space, where savage nature could lend itself to the embellishments of art. He employed two thousand peasants as navvies for ten years, and spent twenty millions. Enormous masses of rock were transported and rivers turned out of their courses. Finally, near a spot which is only known by the exile of Ovid, he realised among the steppes of Yedissen what the imagination of Tasso could lend to the gardens of Armida. During my stay at Tulczim, I often visited that beautiful garden, and I always remained in ecstasies before that unique creation. I did not wonder that it had revived the septuagenarian muse of Trembecki. Seduced by the hope of acquitting towards that noble family of Potocki a debt of gratitude, I attempted, during my stay at Tulczim, to translate into French verse the beautiful inspirations of the Polish bard. When my task was finished, I desired to enhance the work, by investing it with a splendour that might complement its literary merit. The Comte Jean Potocki came to my aid with his profound knowledge, and Mr. William Allan, an English landscape-painter, to-day the President of the Royal Academy of Painting in Edinburgh, lent me the magic of his brush. I intended to publish the work in France, when the desire to witness in Vienna the unique scenes being enacted there brought me to the capital of Austria. Having witnessed the success obtained by the Comte de Rechberg, thanks to the assistance of King Maximilian, surrounded by all the masters of art grouping themselves around this gathering of sovereigns, I bethought myself of placing my verses under the patronage of the European celebrities whom the Congress had brought together. I began to take steps, and to solicit, with the hope of inscribing them at the head of my translation, names of celebrity which should serve it as an ægis. The familiar footing on which everybody was living with every one else in Vienna obviated much of the difficulty which my efforts would have cost elsewhere.